The Days After
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: What happened to Jean-Luc Picard during those days after the Borg and before LaBarre? This story follows the episode "The Best of Both Worlds."
1. Chapter 1

**The Days After**

**Author's Note:** This story was written in 1991 and published in _Eridani 14._

**Disclaimer:** The crew of the _Enterprise_ doesn't belong to me.

In that brief instant, the final connection, the last link with the Borg, was severed, and Jean-Luc Picard staggered back, legs weak, shaking. His left hand reached down and grabbed hold of the railing. Head bent, he concentrated on breathing, taking air into his lungs, letting it out, taking it in again. He was vaguely aware of Beverly Crusher beside him, examining him. Then she straightened and stepped back.

"Life signs are stable," she informed Riker and Troi. Picard drew his head up and stared at her. "The DNA around the micro-circuit fiber implants is returning to normal."

Riker reached forward, opened one side of the railing, as Picard pushed open the other. Holding on to it tightly, he stepped out, gazing up at Troi, eyes searching her face.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly, tentatively.

Slowly, he raised his right arm, looked sullenly at the stump of the implant, then back at the counselor. "Almost Human," he answered, voice hollow. "With just a bit of a headache."

He felt Crusher touch his arm.

"We'll get you to Sickbay," she smiled comfortingly. "We won't have any trouble getting those implants out now."

Picard nodded slightly at her words and strengthened his grip on the railing as best he could. Riker was staring at him, and he met his gaze. There was a familiar connection between them.

"How much do you remember?"

A look of confusion stole into the captain's eyes, and he cast them away, seemingly focused on nothing. But he saw it all, much too clearly. "Everything," he breathed. Then looked back up at Riker, drawing strength from the bond they shared. "Including some unorthodox strategy from a former first officer of mine," he added, his voice tinged with pride.

The look on Riker's face softened. His captain was back, in less than perfect condition, but he was with them again, brought back, safe. As were they all.

Picard stood there, on unsteady legs, swaying slightly as a feeling of nausea swept over him. He felt Crusher's hand tighten on his right elbow, and Troi reached over and took hold of his left shoulder.

"The medics are on their way, Jean-Luc," the doctor said quietly.

Picard nodded and closed his eyes. Seconds later, his legs gave out, and despite Crusher's and Troi's support, he fell forward. Strong hands grabbed him, held him securely. He opened his eyes and stared into Will Riker's bearded face.

"Good reflexes, Number One." He smiled weakly, then passed out.

~vVv~

He did not want to wake up, but there was an insistent voice, gentle, yet firm, imploring him to do so.

"Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc, open your eyes. It's time to wake up now."

Someone touched him on the shoulder. Then a hand, warm and soft, was placed on his forehead. "You've slept long enough, Jean-Luc. I want you to wake up and talk to me."

The voice was pulling him from a place he was not ready to leave, a dark place, where they could not touch him. Then he felt a pressure against his neck, heard a soft hiss.

The voice spoke again, but not to him. "That should bring him around."

"I wish we could let him sleep." Another voice.

"So do I. But we can't risk him slipping into a catatonic state."

"I know. He's been sleeping very deeply, hasn't he?"

"Yes. He's withdrawn a great deal."

Picard opened his eyes slowly and saw Deanna Troi reach across his bed and touch Beverly Crusher on the arm. "He'll come back to us. All of him."

"Looks like he's already making a start." Crusher smiled down at him. It was her hand that rested on his forehead. He blinked up at her, and she gently wiped his eyes with a warm, wet cloth.

Carefully, he raised his right arm, looked down at it and saw his hand where the implant had been. He breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

"They're all out, Jean-Luc," Crusher assured him.

He reached up to the right side of his head, but the doctor gently grabbed hold of his hand. He looked up at her, confused, worried.

"Jean-Luc," her voice was steady, soft, "the implants were deeply rooted. And it's going to take a while for your injuries to heal. In the meantime, I've placed some small plates on your head to protect those areas. It's best that you not touch them."

There was doubt in his eyes. Crusher shook her head. "Trust me, Jean-Luc. We're going to take good care of you."

He nodded. He trusted her. "I know," he mumbled, swallowing. His throat was dry.

She picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, lifted his head off the pillow, and held the glass to his lips. He gulped at it. She pulled it away. "Easy there. Just a little." She gave him some more, then settled his head back on the pillow. He yawned.

"I want to sleep, Beverly," he murmured, closing his eyes.

She shook his shoulder. "Not now. Deanna's here. She wants to talk to you."

"Uh-uh," he sighed, shutting his eyes tighter as if to block her out.

"No you don't, Jean-Luc Picard." Crusher shook him a little harder. "Open those eyes. That's an order, Mister."

He opened them and frowned up at her.

She smiled. "That's better."

"Captain?" Troi touched his arm. He shifted his gaze to her. "I thought you and I could talk."

Picard took a deep breath, but didn't say anything.

"I'll leave you two alone," Crusher said, starting to leave.

"No," he blurted, holding his hand out, "don't go."

She wrapped her fingers around his. "I'll be back, Jean." His eyes pleaded with her. She squeezed his hand. "I promise."

Then she left him alone with Troi. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, fear growing inside him, bringing him fully awake.

There was a chair next to his bed. The counselor sat down and was silent for several moments.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said, voice strained.

"I understand that, Captain. But you need to."

He looked over at her. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me how you feel," she replied.

"You know how I feel."

She nodded. "Tell me anyway."

Picard swallowed, turning his head away from her so that his left cheek pressed into the pillow. "I just want to forget that it happened." He blinked back the tears in his eyes. "Just... just let me forget."

She touched him on the arm again. "I can't let you do that. You told Will that you remembered everything. Now tell me what you remember."

"No," he resisted, "please don't ask me that."

Troi stood up and leaned over him. She held his chin, turned his face towards hers, told him what she knew. "The Borg took you onto their ship, held you captive, integrated your mind into their consciousness, surgically altered you, made you one of them." He tried to look away from her, but she held his face firmly. "They spoke through you, used your knowledge, your voice."

"No," he rasped, his breathing shallow.

"Used you to wage war against the Federation," Troi's voice was hard, "against the _Enterprise_."

"No," Picard cried, pushing her away, "I don't want to remember!" He covered his face with his hands, as the tears coursed down his cheeks, his body shaking with convulsive sobs.

Troi rubbed her hand over his shoulder soothingly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I have to make you remember."

~vVv~

He cried himself into a fitful, fevered sleep, unable to find that dark place where he felt safe. Crusher and Troi stood in the open door of his room, watching him toss and turn restlessly.

"Sometimes I hate my job," Troi said, almost bitterly.

"He has to remember this, Deanna. You know that. He can't suppress it like he does so many other things." Crusher smiled encouragingly at the counselor. "No matter how much it hurts him, or hurts us to watch."

"I know. But it seems so cruel after what he's been through, for me to make him go through it all over again."

Crusher reached out and touched her on the shoulder. "Deanna, I know that when he's better, he'll be grateful for your help."

Troi looked over at him. "I hope so."

"He will." The doctor walked to Picard's bed and sat down on the edge. She ran her hand over his forehead, calming him. He stopped his thrashing movement and lay still, his breathing steadied. She took a cloth out of the basin on the bedside table, wrung the excess water from it, and gently bathed his face. Troi came and stood beside her.

"I'm not the only one he'll be grateful to."

Crusher laughed softly and shook her head, as if denying her contribution.

"You have a very special touch," Troi continued.

The woman looked up at her. "A healer's touch?"

Troi nodded. "Yes. But something more. Something between you and the captain. A touch he's attuned to."

Crusher blushed slightly. It was something she'd felt before with Picard, knew that he'd felt it too, but felt uncomfortable with Troi bringing attention to it.

"We've known each other for a long time," she said quietly.

"It's more than that, Beverly. You know it is." She turned, walked to the door, stopped and looked back. "Don't deny yourself those feelings." Then she was gone.

Crusher sighed and lowered her eyes. She was still rubbing the damp cloth over Picard's fevered cheeks and forehead, her other hand pressed firmly, and protectively against his bare chest. She massaged her fingers up over his shoulder.

"Umm," he groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. She drew her hands away.

"Jean-Luc," she whispered, "it's all right. Go back to sleep."

His eyes widened, and he focused on her. "No, I don't want to sleep."

She smiled. "You're changing your tune on me. A while ago that's all you wanted to do."

He exhaled deeply. "There are dreams now." He swallowed. "Awful dreams."

She touched his cheek. "I know. I'm sorry we made you remember. But you had to. There's a lot you're going to have to talk about."

He stared up at the ceiling, seeing forms and shapes in the dark shadows, memories that haunted him even when he was awake. He looked back towards the woman, sought out her face, her blue eyes.

"I was lost, Beverly," he murmured.

"And now you're found," she assured him, her fingers rubbing his cheek. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Picard shook his head. "I still don't want to sleep."

"That's all right," she leaned over and kissed him softly on the forehead. "I'll stay with you anyway."

~vVv~

The next day, Crusher allowed him out of bed long enough for him to go to the bathroom on his own. But she was waiting for him, beside the door, when he came out.

"Mother hen," he groused as he walked back to his bed, the doctor at his side, her hand under his elbow, supporting him.

"We all need a little mothering sometimes, Jean-Luc," she explained as she lifted the covers and helped him into bed. "Even starship captains," she smiled, settling the blankets around him.

He eyed her carefully. "I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror."

"And?"

He grimaced. "I look like Frankenstein's monster."

"Oh," she grinned slightly, "I wouldn't say Frankenstein's monster, more like-"

"A science project gone terribly wrong," he finished her sentence.

She sighed. "Remind me to tell Deanna that we need to work on your self-image." He shrugged. "And besides, that's my medical handiwork you're being so critical of."

"I'm sorry, Beverly," he apologized, "I'm sure I looked a lot worse before."

"Umm, I don't know," she mused, "they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm sure some Borg female would have found you quite attractive."

Picard laughed. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

She smiled and smoothed her hand over his shoulder. "Would you like a little something to eat before Deanna gets here?" He looked at her, surprise registering in his eyes.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I told you she was coming."

He glanced away.

"Jean-Luc, I know you don't want to talk about it, but you need to. You almost never fell back to sleep last night. And when you did... The nightmares were terrible, weren't they?"

He let out a deep breath and nodded his head resignedly.

"I thought so." She squeezed him on the arm. He looked back at her. "Let Deanna help. Talk to her." He frowned. "Then at least listen," she suggested.

Picard nervously rubbed his fingers over his lips. "All right," he agreed after a long hesitation, "I'll listen to her."

~vVv~

"I owe you an apology," Picard said meekly, his eyes downcast.

Troi sat in the chair next to his bed. "In that case, we're even," she returned, "because I owe you one as well."

"No," he looked up at her, "you were just doing your job, and I..." He swallowed. "I was just being childish."

Troi shook her head. "After what you've been through, I wouldn't say you were being childish." She touched him gently on the arm and looked into his eyes. "Just Human."

Picard smiled at her words and released a deep sigh.

"How do you feel?" Troi asked.

"You tell me," he replied seriously.

"All right. You're tired." He nodded. "Your head still hurts a little bit." Another nod. "And you're frightened."

He reached up, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I shouldn't be," he murmured.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm back now. And there's nothing to be frightened of."

"Except for some memories and feelings. Two things that you're not overly fond of dealing with." He remained silent.

"Beverly says that you still don't want to talk, but you're willing to listen."

Picard narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, and what else does Beverly say?"

Troi smiled. "She says you are an absolutely wonderful patient. Although she's concerned that you're not eating enough."

He scowled. "I'm not hungry. She's just... overbearing."

"She just cares about you. We all do."

"I know, Counselor. And I appreciate your concern, but I-"

"Agreed to listen," Troi interrupted him.

He closed his mouth and glared at her.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"No. No, I did agree to listen." He laid his head back on the pillow, his lips a tight, thin line.

He was determined to fight her every step of the way. Determined to hold his feelings in, bury it all inside of himself and go on with his life. Determined to solve it on his own; solve it by pretending it never happened. Troi felt all this in just a few moments of silence. And since he gave her no words to address, she could only speak to his feelings.

"You're not alone, Jean-Luc."

His eyes widened. She rarely used his first name.

"But you're no longer connected to the Borg either. You're still you, separate, individual. And there's nothing that can touch you or hurt you."

He lowered his eyes, but he wasn't shutting her out, not completely. She sensed a thread of his consciousness reaching out, grasping.

"They took you against your will. You had no choice, no control. And that's something you've always prided yourself on, your ability to remain in charge. And they took that away from you."

She hesitantly touched him on the arm, felt him jump. "The Borg did that to you. You didn't allow them to. They just did it."

His shoulders began to shake, and he started to cry. They'd done that to him, oh God, why did they do it?

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

"You've what?" He stared at his first officer.

"I've come to take you to lunch."

"It was my idea, Jean-Luc." Crusher added as she entered his room and walked over to his bed. "Here. You can put these on." She held out a folded shirt, a pair of pants, and dropped a pair of shoes on the floor.

He took the clothes from her. "Where am I going?" His eyes darted from Crusher to Riker, and back again.

"I thought perhaps Ten Forward," Riker answered, looking over at the doctor.

She smiled. "Sounds like a good choice for lunch."

Picard sighed. "You're determined to make me eat more, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. And I've been told the food in Ten Forward is far better than the food in Sickbay."

He frowned. "But that's not possible. All food dispensers on the ship are programmed exactly the same."

"I'm just repeating what I've been told. Maybe it's the ambiance." She headed towards the door, looked back over her shoulder. "Now get dressed. And I'll join you later."

Picard watched her go. "She's impossible."

"It could be worse," Riker remarked. "She could be Kate Pulaski."

Picard eyed his first officer. "Now, I _liked_ Kate..."

"So did I. But you have to admit, she was a lot tougher than Beverly."

Picard pursed his lips and thought about it. "Not much," he declared after a moment.

Riker just smiled. "Would you like me to wait for you in Beverly's office while you get dressed?"

"No. That's all right. It won't take me long."

Riker sat down in a chair next to the door. Picard threw back the covers, sat up, letting his legs dangle over the side of the bed. He quickly divested himself of his pajamas, then pulled on the dark green shirt and tan pants. He stood up, started to push his feet into the shoes on the floor, felt his knees buckle. He grabbed the side of the bed, trying desperately to steady himself. Riker was immediately at his side, holding him up, then easing him back onto the bed.

"Easy there, Captain. I think you tried that maneuver a bit too fast."

Picard nodded in agreement, took several deep breaths, then looked up at him. "I think I'm ready to try it again."

Riker held the captain's arm firmly as he stood up, slowly this time, and slid his feet into the soft, slipper-like shoes.

"Do you feel steady?" he inquired, still holding his arm.

"Steady enough for you to let go," Picard answered, glaring at the man's hand on his arm. Then his expression softened. "But I'd appreciate your staying close by."

"Always, Captain," Riker assured, letting go of his arm.

Picard straightened his shoulders. "Well, I suppose it's now or never," he commented as he walked out the door, Riker striding to keep up with him.

He was slightly self-conscious of his appearance. In addition to the plates on the side of his head, his cheeks were sunken and hollow, his eyes still dull, his face pallid. But, damn, it felt good to be out of Sickbay, walking the corridors of his ship again. Even though he had to stop every five minutes, brace his hand against the bulkhead, and rest, while Riker hovered beside him. By the time they reached Ten Forward, however, the only thing that felt good was sinking into a chair at a table near a viewport.

The lounge was virtually deserted except for a few uniformed crewmen on the opposite side of the room. Picard cast a wondering gaze at his companion.

"The crew's busy with repairs."

Picard nodded. They were all mending, in one way or another. He stared out the viewport. Earth, blue and green and white, was there before them, like a precious jewel suspended in dark space.

"It's good to see it's still there," he murmured.

Riker inclined his head in agreement. "There's no place like home."

_Home._ Picard sighed. The concept was a good one. The idea of having some place where you always belonged, where there were people to take you in. Like his home in LaBarre. It had been twenty years since he'd last been there. He wondered if they'd take him in now.

"Any idea what you'd like to eat?" Riker's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Eat?" he queried.

Riker grinned. "That's why we came here, Captain."

"And the food's good. Better than Sickbay's." The voice came from over his shoulder.

Picard turned and smiled broadly. "Guinan."

She reached out, took both of his hands in hers. "Captain." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back."

Guinan continued to hold his hands, and they stared into each other's eyes. Riker wondered again at their relationship, closer than friends or family. What exactly did that make them? Two people who cared a great deal for each other, that was apparent. Several moments passed and then Guinan smiled and dropped his hands.

"So, you've come to eat lunch," she said.

Picard rolled his eyes. "So they tell me."

"Doctor Crusher says you haven't been eating in Sickbay."

He threw his hands up. "Does everybody know my dietary habits?"

Riker opened his mouth and started to answer.

"No, no," Picard stopped him. "Don't tell me about the two ensigns on Deck Thirty-nine who know nothing about this."

Riker closed his mouth and stroked his beard, covering the grin on his face with his hand.

Picard looked at Guinan. "Yes. I've come to eat lunch."

"Good. I've prepared something special for you. I think you'll like it."

He nodded. "I'm sure I will."

Guinan walked away, and Picard leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs in front of him and looked over at Riker. "Who's taking care of the ship, Number One?"

"Data and Commander Shelby have everything under control."

"I take it your opinion of Commander Shelby is more favorable now."

"She did a fine job, sir. All of the crew did. I think you would have been proud of them."

"Oh, I am." He smiled slightly. "And it's good to know all of you can function without me."

"We managed to scrape by, but just barely. You were very much missed."

Picard heard the sincerity in his first officer's voice. "Thank you," he murmured.

Riker leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "Guinan also provided some valuable assistance." He studied the captain, hoping to gauge his reaction, but there was very little reaction to observe.

"I'm not surprised," was all he said.

"She's very insightful," Riker continued, probing gently, hoping the captain would shed some light on his relationship with the woman.

"Yes, she is," Picard agreed with a smile. "I sometimes find her counsel very helpful."

Riker glanced over at the bar and saw Guinan coming towards them, a tray in her hand. He realized that he may never know the truth about their relationship, may never understand how deep and meaningful it was. But that would be all right, for the important thing was that they knew.

Guinan reached the table and set the contents of the tray down in front of them. Roast lamb in wine sauce with pepper jelly, asparagus, baked potatoes, French bread, tall glasses of milk.

"And if you clean your plates you may have dessert," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Thank you, Guinan," Riker said. Then when Picard didn't say anything, he asked, "Doesn't this look wonderful, Captain?"

"Oh, yes," he answered, "thank you very much, Guinan."

"You're welcome. Now eat." And she left.

Picard stared at the food spread out before him. They were all his favorites, and it was so kind of Guinan to remember and prepare them for him, and up until that moment he'd really thought that he was hungry and ready to eat something substantial. But now, despite the change from Sickbay to Ten Forward, he found that his appetite was still non-existent. He looked over at Riker. As was typical of the broad-shouldered first officer, he was quickly consuming his meal, enjoying it thoroughly.

Picard decided before Riker noticed that he wasn't eating, he'd better make some effort to do so, appetite or not. He picked up his fork, speared a small, tender stalk of asparagus, and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed it slowly. Then, finding it difficult to swallow, he managed to wash it down with a sip of milk. He was studying the plate of food, contemplating his next possible bite, when Wesley Crusher and Miles O'Brien showed up next to their table. Picard had been so concerned about not being able to eat, and Riker had been so busy doing just that, that neither of them had noticed the pair come into the lounge.

"Captain," O'Brien started, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just want to say it is so good to see you out of Sickbay."

Grateful for the interruption, Picard laid his fork down. "No, no. You didn't disturb us at all."

"In fact," Riker offered, "why don't you join us?"

"All right." O'Brien sat down in one of the empty chairs, and Wesley took the other one. A server from the bar came over and took their orders.

Riker shook his head after the server left. "You're both going to sit there and just drink while we're eating this?" He waved a hand over the table.

Wesley grinned sheepishly. "It does look good."

Suddenly Picard saw a way out of his predicament. It was simple. Knowing how much teenagers liked to eat, he slid his plate towards Wesley.

"Oh, it is very good, Ensign. Won't you try some?"

"Well," Wesley hesitated, looked at the plate longingly, then gave in and picked up the captain's fork. "If you insist."

"Oh, I do," Picard assured him, ignoring Riker's look of disapproval. Before he had a chance to voice a protest, the lounge doors opened and Geordi LaForge and Sonia Gomez entered, walked over and joined the group at the table. They both pulled up a chair and sat down.

LaForge leaned over Wesley's shoulder. "That looks good," he said.

"It is," Wesley mumbled, his mouth full. "Want a bite?"

"Don't mind if I do," he answered, picking up a spoon off the table and helping himself.

Picard watched as his lunch quickly disappeared.

By the time Beverly Crusher arrived in Ten Forward, the crowd had grown to nine: Picard, Riker, Wesley, O'Brien, LaForge, Gomez, Worf, Thralen, and Barkley. She stopped a few feet from the table, her hands on her hips, and caught Riker's gaze. She sent him a look that seemed to say, "You were supposed to take care of him."

Riker, suddenly remembering his charge, turned and looked at the captain. Picard sat back from the table, his face even paler. As the get-together had grown, he'd become quieter, more withdrawn. And Riker, caught up in a half a dozen conversations, had failed to notice. He sighed, shrugging an apology in Crusher's direction.

She walked closer to the table, saw what appeared to be the remains of Picard's lunch, which she suspected had not been eaten by him. She glared down at Riker again.

"Beverly," he said brightly, despite the glare.

At the sound of her name, Picard turned and looked up at her with dull eyes. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I didn't know we were having a party," she said.

"It's sort of a welcome back for the captain," Wesley explained.

"I see. And I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to take the guest of honor."

It was then that everyone at the table realized how tired the captain looked, and they nervously started making excuses and departing. Soon Riker, Picard and Crusher were the only ones left.

"Come on, you," Crusher pulled on Picard's arm.

"Beverly, I'm all right," he muttered.

"You will be after I get you back to Sickbay and feed you."

Picard sighed, casting a weary gaze at Riker.

His first officer frowned. "Sorry, Captain, you should have eaten the lamb."

Picard allowed Crusher to help him to his feet. "Number One, please tell Guinan that you may have my dessert."

~vVv~

It was like force-feeding a child. Every bite was a battle.

"Jean-Luc, you have to eat." Crusher sat on the side of his bed, holding a bowl in her hand.

"I've eaten, Beverly."

She gaped at him. "Five spoonfuls of soup does not constitute eating."

"I'm just not hungry," he said for the tenth time.

"That is not a consideration. You must eat." Her voice was firm.

"Can't you just shoot me with something?"

She suppressed a grin. "Shoot you with something?"

"Yes, a hypospray full of vitamins, or nutrients or something." He looked at her hopefully.

"Jean-Luc, I have given serious thought to shooting you, but not with a hypospray. I was thinking more along the lines of a phaser set on full stun."

He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being a very difficult patient."

"Yes, you are. Now will you please eat? Just three more bites."

"Two?" he bargained.

"Fine." She lifted the spoon to his mouth twice, then set the bowl on the bedside table. She wiped the corners of his lips with a napkin, and he smiled at her weakly.

"It's hard to believe that you're the same person who complained about too much mothering yesterday."

"I'm tired, Beverly," he breathed.

"I know." She rubbed his shoulder. "Why don't you try and get some sleep."

He looked at her warily, fear in his eyes, remembering the nightmares.

"Don't worry," Crusher assured him as she removed the extra pillow from behind his back and helped him settle down into bed. "I'll be nearby." She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. "You just call for me."

"I will," he murmured, as he closed his eyes.

~vVv~

He awoke, screaming in terror, his face wet with tears, his body covered in a cold sweat. He'd kicked the blankets off the bed, and the sheets were tangled around his legs. No sooner did he realize where he was, than the door slid open and Crusher appeared, hurried to the side of his bed, and gathered him in her arms.

"Shh, Jean-Luc. It's all right. Just another nightmare." The third he'd had that night.

"Beverly..." he mumbled.

"Shh," she soothed, rubbing her hand against his cheek, careful of the small plates that covered the areas where the implants had been.

"Uhh," Picard groaned. "Every time..." He swallowed, licking his lips. "Every time I close my eyes, they're there, watching me, touching me... oh, Beverly." Sobs shook his body.

"I know." She rocked him gently.

"So scared."

"I'm here," she whispered, "I'm here."

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

"You look exhausted."

Crusher raised her head and stared across the table at Troi. "Thank you for the compliment," she sighed.

The counselor frowned. "I'm sorry, Beverly. It's just that you're spending so much time taking care of the captain, you haven't been taking care of yourself."

She shook her head. "He needs me, Deanna."

"I know. You're the one he feels the closest to. It's good that you can be there for him. I think he shares things with you that he doesn't tell me. But still, he needs you at your best. Get some sleep tonight. I'll stay in Sickbay with him."

She considered Troi's words; knew that the counselor made sense. But she was hesitant to agree.

"Beverly," Troi continued, "he needs you to be strong for him, and you can't be, unless you get some rest."

"All right, Deanna," she gave in, "but you'll call for me if his nightmares get really bad?"

She nodded. "I promise. If they're any worse than usual, I'll call."

~vVv~

When he cried out, Deanna Troi came to him, and he was hesitant to let her hold him.

"Beverly?" He resisted Troi's embrace.

"She's not in Sickbay right now."

But she was always there. "Where?" he mumbled.

"She's in her quarters, resting. She'll be back in the morning."

Troi pulled him towards her, and this time he didn't resist. He wanted the doctor, desperately, but the need to be comforted was too great, and he folded himself into Troi's arms.

She rubbed her hand against his back. "You're all right, Captain. They're just nightmares. They can't hurt you. Not anymore."

"They're so real," he whispered, his breath ragged. He moved away from her slightly, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes.

"I know they are," she said quietly. "Do you want to talk about them?" She took his hand in hers.

He stared at her, in the half-light of the room, her dark eyes warm, compassionate. "I... I d-don't know that I c-can," he stammered.

"You can try if you want. But if you're not ready to talk about it, you don't have to."

Picard squeezed his eyes closed, felt hot tears spill over onto his cheeks. "Maybe... maybe later," he murmured.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked gently.

What he really wanted, needed, was Beverly Crusher. But she wasn't there for him, and Troi was. "Oh, yes," he sighed, leaning his head against her shoulder. She was warm, real. "Please don't go."

"I won't," she promised as she wrapped the captain in her arms and held him.

~vVv~

Beverly Crusher breezed into Picard's room the next morning, wide awake, refreshed, ready to be strong for him. But not prepared for the stony glare he cast in her direction.

"Good morning," she ventured.

"I wouldn't say so," he replied. He looked small, sitting up in bed, face lined with exhaustion. And Crusher felt sorry for him. But she couldn't let that feeling interfere with helping him get better. Being strong sometimes meant being tough. "Would you like some breakfast?" She was determined to maintain a positive approach.

"Not particularly."

"Well, then let me rephrase that. It's time for breakfast." So much for positive.

"Whatever you say, Doctor. I have very little choice."

"Aren't we in a good mood this morning?"

"Not all of us had a good night's rest," he shot back.

She lowered her eyes. "Deanna told me you had it pretty rough last night."

"It wasn't so bad."

"Oh. Is that why you're doing your best to make me feel guilty?"

He looked away from her and stared at the wall. "No one can make you feel guilty, Doctor. Guilt is something one lays upon oneself."

"Jean-Luc," Crusher walked to the edge of his bed and sat down. She saw the muscles along his jaw harden. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you last night. Deanna strongly suggested that I get some sleep. And you know how strong her suggestions can be."

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment, then turned and looked at her. "No. I'm sorry. I'd grown so used to your being there that I was surprised to wake up and discover you were gone. It's very selfish of me to think only of myself."

She touched him gently on the cheek. "After what you've been through, Jean-Luc, you shouldn't have to think about anyone else but you. There'll be time enough for that when you're better and you're back on the bridge captaining this ship. But for right now, you, Jean-Luc Picard, come first." She drew her hand away and smiled at him. "And I'm sorry I forgot that."

He shook his head. "No. At least one of us got some sleep last night."

"The nightmares will go away," Crusher assured him. "And they'll probably go away a lot faster if-"

"I know," he interrupted, "if I talk to someone about them. But," and he smiled mischievously at her, "one shouldn't talk about nightmares on an empty stomach."

The doctor laughed. "In that case, don't you move. Have I got a breakfast for you!"

She hurried out of the room and was back in a few minutes with a tray. She placed it over Picard's lap and watched in amazement as he proceeded to eat everything on his plate: the scrambled eggs, the ham, the toast, even the grapefruit. And then, with a self-satisfied smack, he finished off his orange juice.

He looked at her, and she could tell he was proud of himself. She was proud of him too. His appetite had returned, and soon, hopefully, so would his peace of mind.

~vVv~

Crusher shook her head and laughed slightly. "He was mad at me."

"No, he wasn't," Troi smiled.

"Yes, he was." She walked over, handed the dark-haired woman a drink, then sat down in a chair opposite her. "He was mad because I wasn't in Sickbay last night."

"He wasn't mad at you," Troi insisted. "I think he was mad at himself for wanting you to be there. It's not easy for our captain to admit to himself that he needs people. You especially."

Her eyes widened. "Me?"

Troi frowned. "Beverly, we've had this conversation before. You know that the two of you have a special relationship."

"All right," she gave in after a few moments of silence. "We do. Just don't ask me to define it."

"I wouldn't dare."

She smiled her thanks at Troi, then took a sip of her own drink. "When you talked to him this morning, did he tell you about his nightmares?"

The counselor nodded. "A little. He says that he feels very alone in them, and scared. Like he's trapped and unable to find his way out."

Crusher sighed. "I could have told you that."

Troi smiled in agreement. "I know. But... at least it's something. He may never tell us exactly what happened on board that ship. But the important thing is that he knows, and he learns to live with it."

"Will he?" Crusher asked, needing her friend's reassurance.

"Yes," Troi answered. "I think he will." She hesitated, inhaled deeply, and then amended her answer. "I know he will."

~vVv~

Crusher rubbed her eyes, stretched her arms, and looked up from her desk. Picard stood in her office doorway, a robe pulled on over his pajamas.

"How long have you been there?" she inquired, blinking in surprise.

"Just a few moments."

She looked at the chronometer on her desk. "I thought you were asleep."

Picard rubbed his fingers over his lips. "No," he answered nervously, "in fact, that's sort of why I'm here. I, umm, wanted to talk to you."

"All right," she smiled. "You can come in and have a seat. You don't have to stand in the door."

He walked over and sat down across from her.

"What would you like to talk about?" she asked.

"Well, I really just wanted to ask a question."

"And what is your question?" Crusher prompted when the captain hesitated.

He took a deep breath. "Will you release me from Sickbay?"

She stared at him, and then answered. "No."

Picard knotted his hands in his lap and directed his eyes towards the floor. "Beverly, please," his voice shook slightly, "I need to be back in my own cabin. Somewhere where I feel I belong, where there are familiar things around me. Maybe there, I won't..." He stopped, but didn't look up.

Crusher leaned towards him. "Maybe there you won't what, Jean-Luc?"

"Maybe I won't feel so lost." He raised his face, and she could see the tears in his eyes. "I don't feel real here, Beverly. I don't feel like I'm myself. There is nothing around that reminds me of who I am. Except for maybe you, and I can't..." Again he stopped, and lowered his eyes.

"Can't what?" she prodded gently.

"I can't become dependent upon you, Beverly."

She stood up, walked around her desk and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his knee. "It's all right if you want to for a while."

Picard shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to. I can't. I have to do this on my own. Sort out my own feelings, face my nightmares..." he chewed on his lower lip, "fight my own battles." He straightened up and rubbed his eyes with his fist. "I can't do that here, Beverly. It's too easy to let you do it for me."

She gazed at him, allowed the silence between them to grow. But the moment, instead of being empty, was very full, warm and secure. And Picard did not feel threatened, or embarrassed. He felt only her compassion. He smiled tiredly at her.

"You understand, don't you?" he murmured.

"Yes," she answered softly. And she did. He could only allow himself to need her just so much. For there was a fine line between needing and wanting, and Jean-Luc Picard could not, would not, cross it.

"Will you release me?" he asked again.

And this time, reluctantly, she agreed. "I'll see that one of the medics brings some clothes to your room," she added.

"Thank you," he breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

Crusher stood also. "If you need anything at all..." she began.

"I'll call you," he assured, and turned, starting to leave her office. She caught up with him. "Jean-Luc?"

He turned back, and she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, hugged him close. At first, he stood there, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, but after a few moments, he returned the embrace. Crusher felt his hands, warm and strong, pressing against her back, his head on her shoulder. She turned her face slightly to the side, kissed his cheek, then pulled back. Picard's eyes met hers, and he breathed in deeply.

"I thought hugs were usually reserved for calming nightmares?"

The woman smiled. "They are. Usually. But now that you're going back to your cabin, no one will be there when you wake in the middle of the night. So, I thought I'd better give you a hug for all the ones you'll miss."

He returned her smile, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome, Captain."

~vVv~

Crusher insisted on walking him back to his cabin, but she said goodnight at the door. _Resisting the impulse to tuck me in_, Picard thought with a half-formed smile on his lips. But he regretted her resistance as the door slid closed between them, and he found himself alone. He felt a shiver run up his spine, and he turned slowly, shakily, and surveyed his cabin. It hadn't changed in the past seven days. And yet, it was different.

"Only because you're different," he murmured to himself and walked over to the viewport. He leaned against the smooth surface and stared vacantly out at the milky blue planet. It was still there, turning on its axis, completely unaware of the events that had transpired in the past week. It had no way of knowing just how near it had come to destruction, how close it had brushed with death. But Picard knew, and slowly, exhaustively, he slid limply to the floor and wept with the knowledge that had the planet been destroyed, it would have been at his hands.

~vVv~

His eyes flew open. He was sitting straight up in bed, hands gripping the blankets, tears and sweat covering his face. His breathing was rapid, his throat dry. He looked around the room, halfway expecting to find them there, lurking in the shadows. But he was alone. Painfully so. And he longed for Beverly Crusher to be there, to hold him, comfort him, chase the nightmare images away. But all he had was the memory of her arms around him.

He exhaled deeply, drew in another breath, then untangled the blankets from around his legs and threw them off the bed. He got up, walked over and poured a drink of water from the flask on his bedroom table. He lifted the glass to his lips. The water was cool and wet, and he drank thirstily, one glass and then another. He turned, looked back at his bed, and sighed. It was the middle of the night, but the last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Taking a third glass of water, he walked into the cabin's main living area and sank into the chair behind his desk. He set the water glass down and picked up the small Sadlerian geode that lay next to his computer screen. Absently, he passed it from hand to hand. It was about the size of a racquetball, and his fingers curled around it easily. The outer shell was rough, grey rock, but when you turned it over and looked inside, it was filled with thousands of minute purple and green crystals. He smiled, remembering when, and from whom, he'd gotten it.

_"It's a Sadlerian geode."_

_He nodded, and gently removed it from the box. He held it in his hand, stared at it, then looked up at the woman who stood across from him. "It's very beautiful, Beverly. Thank you."_

_She smiled. "I wasn't sure what to get you for your birthday. I thought about a book, but that's what I always give you. And then I saw this in a shop window on Darren Twelve, and, I don't know, it just sort of reminded me of you."_

_Picard laughed. "I remind you of a geode?"_

_The doctor frowned slightly with embarrassment. "Well, sort of." She reached out and took the geode from him, ran her fingers along its exterior. "On the outside you're strong and firm. Even a little gruff sometimes."_

_He raised an eyebrow at her._

_She continued. "But when you look on the inside, you're-"_

_"Purple and green?" he interrupted with a smile._

_"No. You're very... unique." She pressed the geode back into his palm and closed his hand around it. "And special. I know I've never told you, but thanks for being a friend."_

_"Thank you for being mine." He grinned self-consciously. "And thanks for taking the time to look inside."_

_She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. "You're welcome."_

Picard clutched the geode tighter in his fist, the solid weight of it drawing him back to the here and now of his dimly lit cabin. It had been a little over a year ago that Beverly Crusher had given it to him, just after she'd returned to the _Enterprise_. And it had, to him at least, become a symbol of their friendship. They didn't always see eye to eye; they had their share of disagreements. But deep down, what they shared was very precious.

He set the geode on the desk in front of him, and wished she was there with him now. Then suddenly, realizing he was slipping dangerously close to self-pity, he reached out and pushed the geode back to its place by the computer screen. He stood up, took a book off the shelf behind him, and crossed over to the sofa. Sitting down, he made himself comfortable and, doing his best to keep his fears under control, read until morning.

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

At 0700 his door chime sounded.

"Come," he called from his bedroom. He heard the door slide open.

"Jean-Luc?" It was Beverly Crusher. He'd known it would be.

He smiled at his reflection in the bedroom mirror. "I'll be right out," he informed as he gave the front of his uniform a customary tug into place. She'd probably come to drag him to breakfast.

"I thought you might like to join me in Ten Forward."

"For what?" he asked, coming into the room and fixing her with a steady gaze.

"For breakfast," she replied, her own gaze just as steady.

Picard laughed. "You are overly determined, Beverly."

"Guilty."

"And overly protective," he added with a heavy sigh.

"Guilty again," she shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. A few silent moments passed. "So?"

"So what?"

"So would you like to join me for breakfast in Ten Forward or not?"

He shook his head in affirmation. "How can I refuse such a gracious invitation?"

"You can't, so come on." She pulled at his arm and led him towards the door. He followed, almost docilely, but he hesitated before stepping into the corridor. She looked at him knowingly.

"You look fine, Jean-Luc," she said softly. It was one thing to go out into the ship as a recovering patient, but quite another to be the captain again.

"Uniform doesn't feel right," he complained, tugging at the front of it once more.

Crusher smoothed her hand over his shoulder, feeling him jump slightly. "Relax. You look fine," she repeated firmly.

He looked at her disbelievingly.

"You do."

"All right," he sighed, "I'll take your word for it."

Five minutes later, they were in Ten Forward, seated at their usual corner table, one that allowed the captain some privacy, yet at the same time offered him a good view of the lounge, which was practically empty.

"Hungry this morning?" Crusher asked teasingly after the server left with their order.

Picard returned her smile. "Why do you ask?"

She leaned towards him. "Pancakes, sausage, hash browns, cereal, toast, and a bowl of strawberries?" she whispered loudly.

"Don't forget the hot tea."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, who could forget the Earl Grey?"

He laughed. "To answer your first question, yes, I am hungry."

"That's good," she assured him. "How did you sleep last night?"

"I, uh... I slept fine," he stammered.

She eyed him intently. "Really?"

"For part of the night, anyway," he admitted. "But, I managed. On my own. And it wasn't too bad. I caught up on a lot of my reading."

The doctor shook her head. "You need your sleep."

"Don't worry. I feel rested."

The server brought their breakfast and they both started eating, all conversation set aside for several minutes.

"Beverly?" Picard looked up from his stack of pancakes and broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering..." He reached up and touched his right cheek. "When can these be taken out?" He indicated the small plates along the side of his head.

"If you'll drop by Sickbay sometime tomorrow afternoon, I'll remove them. It won't take long."

Picard nodded. "Good. It'll help to look completely Human again."

Crusher sighed, but smiled encouragingly at him. "You already look completely Human, Jean-Luc." She hesitated. "Your injuries won't leave any visible scars, but there may be some emotional ones."

"I can handle them now," he said nervously, rubbing his fingers against his lips.

"I'm sure you can, but," she stared down at the table, dreading his possible reaction to what she said next, "I still want you to meet with Deanna every day, to talk. She's expecting you in her office this afternoon. Sixteen hundred hours."

"What?" His voice was barely a whisper.

She looked up at him. "You heard what I said, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly-"

"Don't fight me on this."

"But I have a ship to run."

"I think Commander Riker will be willing to help."

"But-"

"I don't want to make it an order," she threatened.

"All right," he agreed reluctantly. "How long?"

She frowned at him. "You make it sound like an old-fashioned prison sentence."

"Beverly, I just want to put all this behind me," Picard said evenly.

"I know."

"And talking with Deanna..." He trailed off.

"Makes you remember things you'd just as soon forget," she finished his sentence for him.

"Yes," he murmured, lowering his eyes.

"Jean-Luc, Deanna and I want to help you put this behind you. But we want to keep you healthy at the same time. Both physically and emotionally. You've got to store these memories away carefully. Put them all in their proper place. Because if you don't, they'll always be there, every time you close your eyes."

Picard pushed at a piece of uneaten pancake with his fork, then looked back up at her, his green eyes fastening to her blue ones. "You know, Doctor, you are almost as smart as your son."

"Thank you."

"And," he pushed himself up from the table, "you may tell Counselor Troi that I shall be in her office promptly at sixteen hundred hours."

~vVv~

"If you can't beat them, join them." The phrase rattled around in Picard's mind as he headed for the bridge. They meant well, both of them, all of them. He knew that logically. But emotionally, he was having a hard time accepting it. Why couldn't they just leave him alone and let him forget? Surely, after a week or so, the nightmares would go away. He could last till then. He stifled a yawn. At least he hoped he could.

Maybe talking to Troi wouldn't be that bad. After all, that's exactly what he'd been doing for the past few days. Although, he admitted to himself, he'd done more listening than talking. But wasn't that his right; to share only what he chose to? Wasn't he allowed his own secrets, his own demons? He sighed, tried to shake off his feeling of gloom, reminding himself of who he was and where he was going.

He stepped onto the turbo-lift. "Bridge," he intoned. A few seconds later the lift stopped and the doors slid open. He stepped out, onto the lower deck, and the bridge crew stood.

"Welcome home, Captain," Riker grinned broadly.

Picard nodded. "It's good to be home, Captain," he returned, "and since the bridge is in more than capable hands, I'll be in my ready room." He smiled fleetingly, and then disappeared into the haven of his office.

The doors closed behind him, and he stood there for a moment and surveyed the interior of his ready room. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. There was nothing different about it, and that fact helped root him even firmer into this present reality. He walked over to the food dispenser.

"Tea, Earl Grey, hot," he ordered, remembering that he'd left his other cup at breakfast virtually untouched. He took a long, soothing sip of the hot liquid, enjoying the warmth as it spread through his chest. He moved over to his desk, set his cup on it, sat down in his chair and spread his hands out before him. The surface was smooth, solid, cool to the touch. And comforting because it was familiar and real. He turned to his desk computer, activated it. Then he picked up a computer log and began to catch up on information he'd missed, and long overdue reports. Moments later, the door chime sounded.

"Come." He looked up.

Will Riker entered. "Captain, I thought you'd like to be informed of our status." He walked over and leaned against the chair in front of Picard's desk.

"Very much so, Number One," he nodded, then proceeded to listen to Riker, all the while continuing his own work.

"And Earth Station McKinley has advised that they're ready to begin refitting the _Enterprise_." Riker came to the end of his report several minutes later.

"Have they estimated time for repairs?" Picard asked.

"Five or six weeks," Riker answered and winced inwardly at the amount of time involved. But it could be worse. Much worse. At least the _Enterprise_ was still here.

Picard glanced up at him, both surprised and disappointed by his answer, but before he had a chance to comment, the door chime sounded again.

"Come," both he and Riker said simultaneously, and Picard raised his eyes at his former first officer, somewhat amused. Riker just straightened and looked away, a little embarrassed.

The doors slid open and Commander Shelby came in. She looked towards Riker.

"Request permission to disembark, sir."

Riker cut his eyes to Picard, silently reminding her of the captain's return to duty.

Shelby, realizing her mistake, raised her eyebrows slightly and turned her attention to Picard. The captain looked up, and Riker wondered fleetingly if he'd noticed Shelby's lapse in protocol. Probably, he had, but the expression on his face didn't give that knowledge away.

"Permission granted," he replied as he stood up, setting the computer log on his desk. "They picked a fine officer for the task force, Commander."

Shelby smiled confidently. "We'll have the fleet back up in less than a year." She turned her gaze towards Riker, a look of slight amusement on her face. "I imagine you'll have your choice of any Starfleet Command, sir."

Riker shifted his eyes from Shelby to Picard, only to find his captain looking at him somewhat expectantly also. He returned his attention to Shelby, and sighed. "Everyone is so concerned about my next job. With all due respect, Commander," he inclined his head toward Picard, "sir, my career plans are my own business and no one else's. But," he smiled good-naturedly, "it's nice to know I'll have a few options."

Shelby returned his smile, knowingly, finally understanding a few things she hadn't previously understood. "I hope I have the fortune of serving with you again, sir." Then she looked to Picard. "Captain."

Picard nodded his dismissal, and he and Riker watched her go. Then Riker looked back at the captain.

"Course for Station McKinley ready and laid in, sir."

Picard nodded curtly. "Make it so, Number One."

Riker left and Picard took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. He reached down and picked up his tea, held the saucer in his left hand, and started to raise the cup with his right. He stopped, replaced the cup, hearing it rattle in the saucer as his left hand trembled. Such a familiar action for him, reaching down and picking up a cup of Earl Grey. Yet, suddenly, it seemed so alien, unnatural, as if this present reality was no longer real for him. He stared vacantly, once more hit by the enormity of what had happened to him, how close he'd come to losing it all, how close they'd all come.

He set the cup down on the desk, turned, and walked over to the viewport. The feeling would not leave him, that prickly feeling along the back of his neck, the feeling that "they" were still watching him. And even the sight of Earth, in all its brightness and green-blue serenity, did little to lighten the shadows in his mind and soul.

~vVv~

"They're just dreams, Counselor," Picard sighed, settling his shoulders against the cushioned couch in her office.

"Nightmares," she corrected, her eyes focused steadily on his face.

"All right. They're just nightmares," he mumbled tiredly, still trying to pass them off as though they were nothing.

"Very vivid, frightening nightmares," Deanna Troi pressed further.

Picard stared at her, exasperated. "Yes," he gave in, "very vivid, frightening nightmares. But I'm dealing with them."

"How? By staying awake half the night reading?"

His eyes widened. "She told you."

A slight smile crossed the counselor's face. "Let's just say I have my sources."

He tightened his mouth into a thin line. "And I have no secrets."

"Just the opposite," she said, "you have quite a few secrets. Even some you're not aware of yourself."

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "Well, what I don't know, can't hurt me."

"But it can... it is." Her gaze remained steady. "And the longer you deny those secrets, the longer it's going to take before you're completely well."

Picard swallowed. "Both you and Doctor Crusher gave your permission for me to return to duty. Neither of you would have done that if you didn't feel I was... fit."

Troi nodded. "That's correct. But seeing that the _Enterprise_ will be undergoing repairs for the next five or six weeks, we both felt that allowing you to return to duty would be less strenuous than forbidding you to do so."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I do believe you're practicing psychology on me, Counselor."

She smiled. "Yes, sir."

"So, according to your evaluation, I'm not completely well?"

"No," she sighed. "Captain, your physical injuries haven't even healed yet."

Picard reached up and gingerly touched one of the small plates on the side of his head. "Beverly's removing these tomorrow."

"That's good. But emotional injuries take much longer to heal than physical ones. You know that."

"All right." He rubbed his hand against his forehead. "What do you want me to talk about?"

"I want you to answer some questions for me. That's all."

He inhaled deeply. "I'll try."

"Good." Troi hesitated for a moment and then proceeded. "When you realized you'd been taken captive by the Borg how did you feel?"

Picard grimaced slightly, but answered. "I felt angry."

"Is that all?" Troi had that tone in her voice; the tone that told him that she knew there was more.

He sighed. "And I felt frightened."

"Why?"

Picard stared at her. It was a simple enough question, but one he had not allowed himself to explore. And now, he gave it serious thought.

"At first, I suppose, I was afraid for the _Enterprise_."

"Afraid for your crew, and not for yourself." It was a statement, not a question, and there was no doubt in her words.

Still, Picard asked, "Does that make me abnormal, Counselor?"

She shook her head and laughed softly. "No, it just makes you a very dedicated captain."

He smiled slightly, as if grateful for the compliment.

"When did you first become afraid for yourself?" she continued.

His eyes lit with a sudden realization. "I'm not sure." He gazed across the room, staring at the wall. "They... they injected me with some sort of drug. I felt as if I was slipping in and out of consciousness... aware, then not aware. By the time I realized what they were doing to me, they'd already done it."

"Were you afraid for your life?"

"No," he answered, "I'd already lost it."

Troi leaned towards him. "But you were still there, weren't you?"

"Somewhere... in the back of my own mind." His voice had become almost hypnotic, remembering. "So alone," he murmured. "Yet not alone. Because they were there, touching me, changing..." Abruptly he stopped talking and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands, fingers rubbing his eyes.

Troi was quiet, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't. He just sat there for several minutes, and then his shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh. He looked up.

"I think it's time for me to go now."

"Captain," Troi protested.

But he was already on his feet. She rose also, standing between him and the door.

"I appreciate you, Counselor, but I really think that... that this is unnecessary."

"Remembering can be very painful," she said softly, but firmly.

"Precisely," he agreed, "that's why I'd rather not." He stepped around her, headed towards the door.

"Captain."

Her voice stopped him, but he didn't look back.

"The more you try to avoid these memories, the longer they'll stay with you."

Picard closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the sound of her words. But he couldn't.

"You need someone to talk to," Troi went on. "It doesn't have to be me. You could talk to Beverly."

"No," Picard's eyes snapped open. He didn't want to share this with her. He didn't want to share it at all.

"Then will I see you tomorrow?"

"Counselor... Deanna," his voice softened, and he turned around to look at her. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. And I know you truly believe it is for the best, but I honestly don't think that daily appointments with my ship's counselor are what I need right now."

Troi nodded. "I see. And what do you need right now?"

"I simply need to be left alone. Be allowed to work some things out on my own. I assure you, I will be all right."

Troi smiled. "That's my line, Captain."

"Then you agree?" Picard inquired.

"With what?"

"That I will be all right?" He looked at her, almost like a child looking to a parent for reassurance.

She hesitated a moment, then answered. "Eventually. But if we could continue to meet..."

He shook his head. "Like I said, I don't think another meeting will be necessary." He took a step closer to the door.

"The nightmares won't go away on their own," Troi warned.

Picard looked over his shoulder and gave her a half-smile. "You're wrong, Counselor. They will." And with another step, the door slid open, and he was gone.

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"Captain?"

The voice woke him, but not really, for his eyes were already open. More appropriately, the voice made him suddenly aware of his surroundings, yet he did not instantly recognize them.

"Where am I?" he whispered hoarsely.

"In the corridor, a little ways from your cabin." The voice was soft.

He looked to his left. Deanna Troi was there, the expression on her face worried, concerned.

He grimaced, lowered his eyes, and saw that he was wearing his pajamas. "Good lord," he breathed.

"It's all right, sir," Troi assured him. "Come on." She gently took hold of his elbow, turned him around, and led him back to his cabin. He was shaking, unsteady, and she helped him over to the couch. He sank down onto it, leaned back, and covered his face with his hands. Troi went into his bedroom, and returned with his robe. She touched his arm. He jumped slightly, pulling his hands away from his face.

"I brought your robe."

"Oh." He sat up, allowing her to drape the dark blue robe around his shoulders. Then, with a heavy sigh, he settled back again.

Troi sat down next to him on the edge of the couch. Picard stared straight ahead, blankly, his eyes focused on nothing, too ashamed to meet the counselor's patient gaze. Finally, after several long moments of silence, he spoke.

"What was I doing?"

"You were sleepwalking," she answered.

He looked at her, startled, alarmed. "How long was I out there?"

Troi shook her head and smiled comfortingly. "Not long. A few seconds maybe. I was in my office when I sensed you were... troubled. I came straight here."

"And found me before I wandered God knows where." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I have never in my life done something like this."

"You've never in your life been held captive by the Borg either."

Picard eyed her wearily. "So we're back to them, are we?"

"They haven't left yet, have they?"

He sighed. "No. They're still here." He tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

"I know. Tell me about your nightmare."

He feigned confusion. "Nightmare?"

"Yes, Captain, the nightmare that brought you out of your cabin into the corridor."

He nodded resignedly. "In my pajamas," and he groaned slightly. "I guess you were right."

"About what?"

"The nightmares. They won't go away on their own."

"Tell me about them."

Picard leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "The one I have the most often... the one I had tonight... I'm lying on some sort of table, and they're all there, surrounding me, looking at me..." He trailed off.

"And touching you," Troi supplied quietly.

He hesitated, then continued, voice strained. "Yes. Changing me... turning me into one of them." He gasped, swallowing convulsively. "And I couldn't stop them."

Troi saw tears well up in his eyes, then fall silently over his lower lids, making silver trails down his cheeks. She took hold of his hand, and he tightened his fingers around hers, held on.

"It's all right," Troi whispered.

Picard shook his head, reached up with his other hand and wiped at his eyes. "No," he rasped, "it's not all right."

"It will be," she promised him.

He looked over at the woman, wanting to believe her, needing to trust in her words. But he couldn't, and he found himself wondering, would he ever feel safe again?

~vVv~

Crusher smoothed her hand over the right side of his head and face, then smiled down at him. "There. You're as good as new."

Picard sighed. "I'll bet you say that to all your Borg implant patients."

She arched her eyebrows teasingly. "Only the handsome ones."

"Remember what I told you about flattery," he reminded her, his voice grumpy.

"Yes. And I can see I'm getting nowhere fast. But, I did accomplish something this afternoon." She picked up a mirror from the table beside her and held it out to him. "Care to take a look?"

Tentatively he took it out of her hand.

"Go on, Jean-Luc."

He held it up in front of him, staring at his reflection. And the face that looked back at him was his, unmarked, unscathed, as if the Borg had never touched him.

"Well, what do you think?" the doctor questioned after a few moments of silence.

"I think... you've done a very fine job, Beverly. And now," he slid off the edge of the examining table, "I have a job to do as well." He started towards the door.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher's voice stopped him. He looked back. "How are the nightmares?"

He studied her expression, wondering if Troi had told her about last night, started to ask, but changed his mind. "They're... getting a little better," he mumbled.

"That's good."

Picard expected her to say more, but she didn't. Instead, she smiled a goodbye, turned and walked into her office. _Too easy_, he thought as he left Sickbay. And for the next few days he fully expected Beverly Crusher to corner him in the corridor, or his ready room, and interrogate him about the state of his mental health. But she never did. Although every look she gave him was full of motherly, over-concern.

He continued his daily meetings with Deanna Troi, and the nightmares began to fade. Images that had terrified and jolted him awake, no longer did so. Instead, they drifted past his mind's eye in a disjointed haze, specters with no substance that posed little threat.

Despite Crusher's concern, Picard threw himself into his job, oversaw closely the beginning refits on the _Enterprise_, caught up on long neglected logs and overdue requisitions; refused to take it easy and let his first officer do most of the work. And in a week's time, it caught up with him. And on the bridge of all places. As he strode up the ramp towards the engineering station, he suddenly felt weak and dizzy. He reached out blindly for the wall to steady himself, but instead felt a strong arm encircle his shoulders.

"Sir?" Riker's voice broke through the fog that surrounded him.

Picard took a deep breath. "I'm all right, Will," he managed, even as he sagged against his first officer.

"Maybe we'd better let the doctor determine that," Riker replied, steering the captain into the aft turbolift.

Picard didn't resist, and was grateful when the lift doors slid closed. He pulled away from Riker, leaned heavily against the wall, and continued to breathe, in and out, deeply. His head cleared, and by the time they reached Sickbay he felt fine. But despite his arguments there was no escaping one of Beverly Crusher's thorough exams.

Almost an hour later, he still lay flat on his back on an examining table, staring up at the red-haired woman.

"Beverly," he sighed, "can I sit up?"

She fixed him with a firm gaze.

"Please?" he added, somewhat meekly.

"All right." She took hold of his arm and helped him up, but stopped him, her hands firm against his shoulders, when he tried to get off the table.

"I have work to do," he groused.

"Jean-Luc, you're going to work yourself to death if you don't take it easy."

He arched an expressive, dark eyebrow. "Doctor, you're being overly dramatic."

"I'm being overly truthful. Your blood pressure is up, your weight is down, and I suspect you still aren't sleeping well."

"Ah-hah," he snapped, "you're wrong there, I'm sleeping just fine."

"In that case, let me rephrase, I suspect you aren't sleeping much."

He couldn't argue with that one, and so he remained silent.

Crusher sighed with satisfaction. "I finally won a round." She placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "Do yourself a favor, Jean, do me a favor," she laughed slightly, "take some shore leave time. Will can see to things here."

He smiled up at her. "I'll give it serious thought." It was an old joke, but Beverly Crusher didn't seem to find in funny. "I promise," he assured her, and this time she didn't stop him when he got off the table. He took her hand in his. "I will think about taking shore leave, Beverly. And you'll be the first to know what I decide."

"Good. You have all afternoon to think about it."

He stared at her. "What?"

"No more work for you today. Go back to your cabin and rest. I'll check in on you later."

"All right," he agreed reluctantly. It could have been worse. At least she hadn't confined him to Sickbay.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc Picard did more than think about shore leave; he dreamed about it. And for once, it was a pleasant dream. The French countryside on a warm spring day, the long ago familiar smell of the earthy vineyards, the sound of his parents calling to him in accented tones, and the image of his brother, Robert, his head thrown back, laughing up at a clear, blue, sunlit sky. Picard was a boy again, running through the green trees, and splashing over crystal cold, spring fed streams. There were no dark shadows, no fear, just a safe, secure feeling that lingered even after he opened his eyes.

Late that afternoon, he put in a request for shore leave. Starfleet granted it immediately.

~vVv~

Picard reached into his top dresser drawer and drew out a blue shirt.

"So, where have you decided to go?"

He raised his head slowly, stared straight ahead. He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes settled on Deanna Troi's reflection in the mirror. "Umm, what? Oh. Uhh... France... LaBarre." He nervously clenched his fingers around the shirt he held. "My home village."

"Really?" Troi asked. She was leaning against his bedroom door frame.

He nodded his head. "Yes. The first time in almost twenty years." his voice was soft, reflective.

"Interesting," she commented.

He cut his eyes sharply at her reflection. "Counselor," he admonished as he turned and walked into his bedroom.

Troi extended her hand towards him in explanation. "I just find it interesting. Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the man who couldn't be pried out of his seat for a vacation for three years." She crossed her arms in front of her. Picard stood there, looking at the counselor, his shoulders slumped.

"It's Earth," he said tiredly. "It's home. Do I need another reason?"

There was an understanding look on Troi's face, but she questioned him. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Picard placed the blue shirt he was holding in the suitcase on his bed, then looked back at her, solemnly.

"Your help has been invaluable during my recovery. But, look..." he raised his hands to either side of him, his fingers curled in towards his palms, "I'm, uh... I'm better," he grimaced, shaking his fists. Then he lowered them. "The injuries are healing."

"Those you can see in the mirror," Troi returned.

"The nightmares have ended," he said quietly. And they had. Now they were just dreams. "All I need now is a little time to myself."

"I agree. In fact, I'm delighted you're going. It's just that the choice of where you're going could stand some scrutiny."

Picard picked up his suitcase. "If you wish to believe my going home is a direct result of being held captive by the Borg, be my guest," he replied as he walked past her, a smug, closed-mouth look on his face.

Troi followed him into the other room. "Is that what you believe?"

Picard stopped, set the suitcase down in front of him, let out a short exhalation of breath, shook his head slightly. "I hate it when you do that."

Troi smiled broadly. "Captain," she nodded at him, "you do need time." He looked back at her, his expression devoid of emotion. "You cannot achieve complete recovery so quickly. And it's perfectly normal after what you've been through to spend a great deal of time trying to find yourself again."

"What better place to find oneself than on the streets of one's home village."

She inclined her head, and smiled again. "Interesting."

Picard exhaled deeply, exhaustively, and gave her an outdone look.

With a slight laugh, Troi stepped over to him. "Have a good trip, Captain." She touched his arm and kissed his right cheek, soft wisps of her dark hair brushing against the still sensitive areas on his face and head.

And then she was gone, the doors sliding closed behind her.

Picard turned, reached out, and took three books off the shelf behind him. Then he changed his mind, returning them to their place. This wasn't a vacation. Not really. He wasn't going to LaBarre to sit in the sun and read. In fact, could not allow himself that escape. He closed the suitcase, swung the strap over his shoulder, and went over to the door. It slid open. But before he stepped into the corridor, he hesitated, looked back at the place he was leaving, thought of where he was going. And wondered, which one was really home?

He ventured out into the ship, on his way to the transporter room, Troi's words causing him to mull over new thoughts in his mind. Why was he going to LaBarre after all these years? His dream of the day before came back to him. Did he hope to recapture those days? Even if he did, he knew he couldn't. Father and Maman were no longer there, but Robert was. Picard stopped in the middle of the corridor, hit with the sudden, hard realization that he was not going back to find himself on the streets of his home village, but to find himself in the strength and security of his older brother's arms.

"Nonsense," he murmured, shaking his head, denying and dismissing the idea simultaneously. He proceeded on to the transporter room.

Once there, the doors slid open before him. O'Brien stood in his customary place behind the control panel, but Picard paid him very little notice, his eyes fastening on to the figure that stood by the transporter pad.

"I hope you don't mind. I wanted to see you off." Beverly Crusher gave him that soft, familiar smile of hers.

"Of course I don't mind."

"I'm glad you decided to go."

"I am too." He took the suitcase from his shoulder and set it on the pad. "It should be..." He borrowed a word from his counselor. "...interesting."

"I'm sure it will be." Crusher leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, just as Troi had done earlier. The only difference was that she held her cheek to his for a few seconds and whispered in his ear. "I'll miss you."

She straightened and pulled back; the look in her eyes seemed to assure him that no response was necessary. But he wanted to respond.

"I'll miss you too. And don't worry." He grinned. "I'll take care of myself."

"You'd better," she warned, a serious edge in her voice. "And if you do start to feel bad, remember, there are doctors in France."

"None as good as you."

"Flattery, Jean-Luc."

He shook his head. "No. That's truth, Beverly."

Impulsively, he reached out and hugged her, held on tightly for a moment before he released her from the embrace. He smiled self-consciously when he noticed O'Brien averting his gaze. But he wasn't ashamed of his show of affection.

"Thank you. For everything." Then he stepped onto the transporter pad and stood next to his suitcase. "I'm ready, Chief."

O'Brien cleared his throat. "Uh, yes sir." He re-checked the coordinates.

Picard gazed down at Crusher. She stood there, smiling up at him.

"Energize," he said firmly, then returned his friend's smile. As the transporter beam caught hold of him, he realized something important, something crucial. He had to go home, before he could come home; go back, so that he could go forward.

~The End~


End file.
